


This window gives me and excellent view of the street garbage

by junebugtwin



Category: RWBY
Genre: Angst, Blake hating herself, Blake loving her friends, Blake sucking at talking about her feelings, Bumblebee in sort of a vague way, F/F, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Swearing, Therapy, like a lot of swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-21
Updated: 2020-01-21
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:27:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22344835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/junebugtwin/pseuds/junebugtwin
Summary: The woman is mimicking breathing, she’s even saying ‘inhale’ and ‘exhale’, Blake almost laughs- she knows how to calm down, she can totally do it- she just- she needs a moment for her head to sort itself out. She has the oddest urge to assure the woman this isn’t her first freak out- like haha no I can do this by myself I’m a responsible adult who knows how to have a proper panic attack-Blake takes a few deep breaths, her ears still moving from noise to noise- clock, woman breathing, floorboards, traffic outside, wind outside, receptionist in the hall, clock, woman moving closer-“I’m fine” Blake assures hurriedly, moving into herself slightly as the woman calmly halts her approach. The woman has startlingly white hair. Weren’t old people supposed to have grey air?----Team RWBY goes to therapy, and Blake has a bad time.
Relationships: Blake Belladonna/Yang Xiao Long
Comments: 1
Kudos: 45





	This window gives me and excellent view of the street garbage

Blakes pretty sure no one in team RWBY is happy with this arrangement. Ruby had tried to remain optimistic, back when they were first told where they would be spending an hour of their afternoons- but even her cheerful tone and logical argument couldn’t hide the tension Blake had seen laced within the girl’s body. A tension that had barely softened since the Fall, clinging to her like vines, or a tumor- eyes darting back and forth, stiff back, shoulders up, fingers playing with crescent rose- Blake knew paranoia when she saw it. Ruby hardly seemed like she was even ready for therapy. Wounds still pink and tender, Blake didn’t think it wise for them to be scraped open once more.

Blake rubbed her thumb along her finger idly, eyes focused on the cars passing by outside even as she fidgeted. What a terrible place to put a window. She got that nature was supposed to be soothing, but an old parking lot filled with plastic and a busy highway road was hardly picturesque. Blake sighed.

Weiss had reacted particularly violently to the idea that she even needed therapy, her old shrilly displeased voice returning to Blake’s ears after what felt like months of a criminally softer tone. Blake didn’t want to argue with Weiss about mental illness or trauma, she didn’t even particularly want to force the white haired teen into therapy- but if any of them was due for a mental and emotional check-up is was her. Weiss seemed to be genuinely grateful to have seen her friends again, and had been almost disgustingly nice since they reunited- but that didn’t mean she was magically better. Her perspective had changed for the better sure, but Weiss already had a lot of emotional baggage before the Fall of Beacon, there was no way all that pent up stress and anxiety disappeared.

Blake could hear the woman’s even breathing from across the room, her keen ears picking up on the sound of pen pressing to paper. Maybe she was just going to let Blake sit in peace for the rest of their sessions? Was this some sort of contest of wills? Was the ticking of the clock and the scribble of pen actually supposed to get Blake to talk? Or maybe her therapist was just super chill and nice? Maybe she hated her job and had better things to do? Blake almost smiled at the thought- maybe this would be more boring than anything else- she was fine with that. Boring she could do.

And Yang. Doubtless a good therapist would give her third ex-partner (god she needed less ex-partners) some peace. Blake hoped Yang was alright. The blonde wasn’t particularly fond of people inspecting her business without her say so, and even cagier about her past and troubles. Blake supposed she couldn’t pretend she was totally alright anymore, not with…not with the loss of her arm. A visible reminder of what she had endured. What she was still enduring.

Blake swallowed heavily, her spit sticking in her throat, weighted like iron- small pennies dropping down her neck and into her stomach. Heavy.

She had to get used to things now. She couldn’t let herself get all weird about Yang’s prosthetic- having a little freak out every time she saw it wasn’t fair to Yang, and was frankly insulting. It wasn’t Yang’s fault her arm got violently removed, it was Blakes- she had no right to get all weird about it now after the fact. Yang had to live with the burden of Blakes stupid mistakes for the rest of her life, the least Blake could do was act like a decent person occasionally. God- what kind of decent person let this happen to the people they care about? _Decent_ \- she was barely even _tolerable_ on her best days _jesus Christ_. How is she going to fix things? It’s her fault she has to do something, she has to make up for things but how do you make up for ruining someone’s life how do you even look them in the eye knowing that they would of lived the rest of their life happy if you weren’t there how do you exist knowing your actively preventing happily ever after for the best person you’ve ever met you ruin everything you touch you piece of disgusting garbage you waste of fucking air you’re a selfish fucking bitch Blake you utter disappointment evil shit idiot fucking stupid greedy

“Blake- I need you to focus on my voice okay? You’re having what is probably panic attack, and I need you to stay in the present for me. Please if you can, take deep breaths.” Blake can hear her, but her mind if frantic, flickering between thoughts faster than she can fully comprehend, her heartrate skyrocketing. The woman is mimicking breathing, she’s even saying ‘inhale’ and ‘exhale’, Blake almost laughs- she knows how to calm down, she can totally do it- she just- she needs a moment for her head to sort itself out. She has the oddest urge to assure the woman this isn’t her first freak out- like haha no I can do this by myself I’m a responsible adult who knows how to have a proper panic attack- Blake takes a few deep breaths, her ears still moving from noise to noise- clock, woman breathing, floorboards, traffic outside, wind outside, receptionist in the hall, clock, woman moving closer-

“I’m fine” Blake assures hurriedly, moving into herself slightly as the woman calmly halts her approach. The woman has startlingly white hair. Weren’t old people supposed to have grey air?

“You do seem to have a better handle on yourself. Are you okay? Would you like some water?” Blake would like some water, but she’s not sure she could swallow it, never mind keep it down. Blake shakes her head ‘no’. The woman slowly moves to her seat, and it occurs to Blake that ‘slowly’ might just be how she gets around. For a moment the room is silent again.

“Would you please tell me if I did something to prompt that response?” Blake feels a bitter chuckle die in her throat. You did nothing, she wants to say, it was all me, I can’t stand being with that bitch for more than a few minutes.

“No, you didn’t do anything.” Blake murmurs, quietly ashamed. God somebody else had to witness her completely falling apart over literally nothing- it was bad enough that she was there for it. The woman waits a moment- Blake remembers that her name is Eva- her dusty brown eyes carefully studying Blake’s face.

“Would you like to tell me what happened?” No.

“I- I just started overthinking some stuff.” Eva nods wisely, as if that response allowed her to understand Blake perfectly.

“I see. Would you mind telling me what it was you were overthinking?” Blake keeps her gaze neutral, though her first instinct is to glare. Why would she want to tell a stranger what kind of shit got her brain to crash and reboot?

Blake sighs.

“A lot of stuff.” She mutters, ending yet another successful session.


End file.
